


Plan C

by Rhiannon87



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Action, Adventure, Drake's on a boat, Gen, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com/post/71112424823/dont-feel-like-messing-with-it-anymore-really">this awesome fanart</a>. Nate's been hired to recover an artifact, and by god, he's going to get it back, come hell or high water.</p>
<p>High water's more likely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan C

Plan A had been simple and straightforward: break into the warlord's house, take back the relic, return it to its owners. Child's play. Literally, in that Nate had done his first home break-in at age fifteen. Of course, the place he'd broken into back then had been a residential house, not an armed compound. So Nate hadn't quite been expecting spotlights and machine guns. Plan A: failure.

Plan B was a little more complicated. Nate had learned that the warlord was using an armored truck to transport the relic from his house-slash-fortress to his ship, so the plan became attacking the truck during the drive. A little more complicated and a lot more expensive, as he had to hire some local muscle to help out, but he could just charge the extra expense to his clients. And besides, it was just one truck. How hard could it be?

Very hard, it turned out, especially when one of the locals turncoated and warned the warlord about the hit. One truck turned into seven, all carrying armed guards, which seemed like overkill. The relic wasn't worth _that_ much. Anyway, there had been a lot of shooting and a lot of running. Everyone who'd stayed loyal (a rather depressingly low number) had made it out alive, fortunately. None of them had been willing to continue helping, though, which left him alone to execute Plan C.

So far, so good. The warlord's ship was still at the dock, lucky for him. Nate was good at climbing shit, but 'wet rope in the middle of a storm while remaining unseen' was still quite a challenge. Still, he'd made it on board and down to the lower decks without being seen. Now he just had to find the relic, grab it, and get back out. Nate leaned around the corner and peered down the hall. No guards, which was good, but he could see about eight doors, which was bad. He didn't have time to check them all. And that was just in this one hallway, who knew how many more halls and doors there were on the other decks--

A door swung open, spilling light into the hall, and Nate caught a glimpse of Mister-Relic-Stealing-Warlord himself step out. Nate ducked back into cover and flattened himself against the wall, frantically glancing around for a place to hide. Nothing. If he came this way, Nate was pretty well screwed.

He held his breath, listening for the sound of footsteps. He heard metal creaking over the sound of the storm, and after a few seconds he realized the other man was walking away. Nate very slowly peeked around the corner, just in time to see the warlord disappear into the door at the end of the hall. He let out a relieved breath, glanced around again, then slowly crept towards the door the warlord had emerged from. If he was lucky, it was the guy's private quarters, and he seemed obsessed enough with the relic to want to keep it close.

Nate slowly eased the door open, then groaned and rolled his eyes. Well, at least now he knew where to go if he had to take a leak. “Dammit,” he muttered.

Door at the end of the hall, then, and hope that he was alone. Nate glanced around again and continued forward, one hand trailing on the wall to steady himself as the ship rolled. He was almost to the end of the hall when a door swung open right in front of him and nearly smacked him in the face. He shot to his feet as the door closed, revealing a lightly armored but well-armed guard.

For a second, they both blinked at each other in abject shock. Nate recovered first and punched the man in the throat to keep him from calling for help. The man choked, gasping for air, and Nate went to follow up his first punch with one to the solar plexus. Instead, he found his arm twisted around behind his back at a painful angle as the man swung him face-first at the wall. Nate managed to turn enough that he took the brunt of the impact on his shoulder instead of on his nose. Still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, though.

He bounced off the wall and into the man's chest just as the ship rolled, and they both careened into the far wall. Nate managed to land a punch to the man's stomach and followed up with a knee to the groin. Unsurprisingly, the man dropped like a stone.

Nate looked up and down the corridor as he tried to catch his breath. Still empty. He guessed that the sound of the storm had covered up the noise of their fight. “Lucky me,” he muttered. He searched the man, removing his guns, knife, and earpiece. Then he grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him into the room he'd just left.

Which was apparently the warlord's private quarters. Nate looked around the lavish room and grinned. “Lucky, lucky me.”

There was a wardrobe against one wall, and Nate dragged his semi-captive over, then opened it up and shoved aside enough shirts to stuff the barely conscious man in. “Take a nap,” he advised as he shut the doors. Then he opened the doors again, pulled out a shirt, closed them, and twisted the shirt into a makeshift rope to tie the handles of the doors together.

That problem solved, Nate turned his attention to finding the damn relic. It was probably hidden somewhere, and he didn't know when the room's owner would be back. Although he could get a little advance warning... he wiped off the earpiece on his shirt, then hooked it around his own ear. Not much chatter, just updates on the weather and when they'd likely be able to leave. He mostly tuned it out as he started searching the room. Nate checked under the bed, in the desk, in the dresser-- nothing. “Dammit!” He planted his hands on his hips and looked around. “Where the hell could it--”

A glint of red and gold caught his eye, and he turned towards the bookshelf. And there, on the third shelf, being used as a goddamn bookend, was the relic. Nate sighed and yanked it out. “More trouble than you're worth,” he muttered, turning it over in his hands to examine it. Last thing he needed was to get fooled by a damn copy. But the imperfections and markings he'd been told to look for were all there, and Nate doubted that the warlord had had enough time to get such a detail-perfect copy made.

“Now to get out of here,” Nate muttered. Just as he turned towards the door, the radio exploded with barked orders. Lots of repetition and shouting, but Nate could still figure out what was going on: the ship was about to leave.

The floor rumbled as Nate hurried to the door. He cracked it open an inch to peer out, and when he didn't immediately get punched in the face, opened it enough to stick his head out. The hallway was still empty. Presumably everyone was off doing... whatever needed to be done to get ready to set sail. Sully was good at boats, not him.

Nate half-ran to the stairs and raced up them, emerging into the rain. If the ship was about to leave, then climbing back across the rope wasn't an option. So, he'd swim for it. This close to shore, he could make it. He squinted at the darkness past the ship's rail, then sighed. Of course he'd come up on the wrong side of the ship. Great. Okay. Get to the other side, jump, swim to shore. He had a plan. He could do it.

“It's gone!” someone shouted over the radio. Nate winced and grabbed at his ear. “The idol is gone! Find the thief!”

“Oh crap.” Nate whirled around and looked for a way up to the main deck. That'd be the fastest way across. He spotted another flight of stairs and ran for it, abandoning stealth for speed.

The top deck was lit up like day, spotlights sweeping through the rain to look for him. Awful lot of effort for something the guy just wanted to use as a bookend. Nate vaulted over a bulkhead and glanced at the wheelhouse. If he could just stay close to the walls, he'd be able to avoid the spotlights. Then it'd be a run and a dive and he'd be home free. More or less.

Nate took a deep breath, glanced around, and started forward. He made it all of three steps when his foot slipped on the rain-slick deck and he fell flat on his back, his head slamming against the metal and the breath knocked out of his lungs. His vision whited out, and for a second, Nate wondered just how hard he'd hit his head. Then his aching brain made the connection between sudden blindness and the spotlights, and he lurched to his feet. He grabbed the relic, hugging it to his chest with one arm, and staggered towards the railing. Just needed to get over the side without getting caught--

Something heavy slammed into his back, and he stumbled forward. The relic went flying from his grasp and traced an elegant arc through the air as it went over the side of the ship and into the roiling sea. Nate managed to regain his footing and looked over his shoulder. A man with easily six inches and sixty pounds on him was closing in, clearly intent on beating him within an inch of his life. So Nate did the only sensible thing.

He jumped over the railing and dove after the treasure.

Nate forced his eyes open against the stinging salt water and peered through the darkness. He heard bullets hit the water behind him and dove deeper, straining for any glimpse of the relic. Nothing. He couldn't even tell how deep the water was here, dammit--

When his lungs started to burn for want of air, Nate swam back to the surface, emerging with a gasp. The warlord's ship was still behind him, spotlights sweeping the water. He yanked the useless earpiece off, then took a deep breath before diving again. He didn't have a flashlight, but those spotlights might just do the trick. He surfaced and dove twice more before finally spotting a glimpse of gold about twenty feet off. Nate swam for it, hoping like hell it was the relic and not a candy wrapper or something.

It was upside down and half-buried in mud, but there it was. Nate managed to yank the relic free and swam to the surface. “Got you,” he gasped, grinning. The ship hadn't moved, but the spotlights were sweeping another section of water. Nate paddled towards the docks, keeping an eye on the ship as he went, then hauled himself out. He sprawled out on the wood and lay there, coughing, one arm thrown possessively over the relic. No way in hell was he letting go of it. Not after all that.


End file.
